Five Kisses
by Rayne-Malfoy10
Summary: Or the five times Sherlock kissed John and the one time John took matters into his own hands. Johnlock
1. Chapter 1

Alright, I have read tons of five times one time stories lately and figured that I wanted to get in on it. If anyone knows how these started, I'd love to hear about it. Because I have loved every single one I've read. :P

This is Johnlock. That means MxM for those of you who didn't know. Don't like, don't read.

Without further ado, here is Five Kisses! The five times Sherlock kissed John and the one time John took matters into his own hands! Enjoy!

Allons-y!

-Rayne

* * *

John was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. Sherlock had disappeared somewhere into the writhing mass of male bodies on the dance floor, leaving John with a brief nod and his most sultry smirk. John had just rolled his eyes and watched as his best friend forced his way into the crowd.

They were looking for someone. A man, a murderer, who hunted for his victims, gay men between 18 and 28, at this very bar. John had been told to stay at the bar and keep his eyes peeled while Sherlock braved the masses, mostly because John was more opposed to being groped by another man than Sherlock was.

He took a swig of his drink, scanning the edge of the dance floor, looking for either a man that fit the suspects description or a man in a purple shirt. He spotted the latter, much to his surprise.

Sherlock didn't look like he was looking for anyone. His eyes were shut, his hands were raised above his head, the buttons on his shirt straining dangerously against his chest and stomach. He looked as though he didn't have a care in the world as he moved in time with the music, hips swaying to the beat. His lips were slightly parted and his hair looked as though someone had been running their hands through it. He looked like sex walking.

John nearly choked as that thought passed through his mind. Sex walking? Sherlock? No. First, he was a man. John didn't find men attractive. And secondly, this was Sherlock Holmes. Talking about sex made the man uncomfortable. There was no way this sensual creature was Sherlock.

Glancing up again, though, John realized that there was no denying that it was Sherlock. A man a bit shorter than the detective had joined him and had his back pressed against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's eyes had opened. John watched, mesmerized as the other man began to grind his arse against Sherlock. A slow and easy grin crossed Sherlock's lips. One of his hands came down to the man's shoulder before trailing down his chest and resting, splayed, over his stomach. Sherlock guided the movements of the smaller man. He pressed his body closer and Sherlock's second hand fell, lifting the man's untucked shirt. John felt warmth spread through his stomach as he watched Sherlock's hand stroking the bare skin of the man dancing in front of him.

"Sexy thing, isn't he?" a man asked John, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Which one?" John asked.

"The one in purple. Never seen him here before. Real pity; he looks like he'd be one hell of a shag. I mean, just look at that body! He is the image of sin, really."

John watched Sherlock as he turned the man around so that they were dancing chest to chest. Sherlock's hands, now pushing against the small of the other man's back, guided his hips forward until their thighs and groins were pressed together as well.

"You know, I bet you look just as sexy on the dance floor," the man said. He had leaned in closer to John, making the doctor turn with surprise. "I'm Dave. Let me buy you a drink."

"I've already got one, thanks."

"Something stronger."

John shook his head, frowning at the man. "No, thanks."

"Then let's dance."

"Not really in the mood."

"Come on, baby. Just you and me and the music."

"What part of no doesn't make sense to you?" a new voice asked from behind John. He turned and breathed in relief upon seeing Sherlock glaring at Dave.

"We were talking about you, sexy!" Dave said, his eyes widening as he gave Sherlock a lingering once-over. "Maybe you'd dance with me?"

"Not likely," Sherlock growled. "I don't waste my time with guys like you."

"He's taken, anyway," John said suddenly, without thinking. Dave's eyes narrowed and Sherlock's widened.

The detective played along, though, wrapping an arm around John's waist and grinning. "By this wonderful man here, I'm afraid," he practically purred in John's ear, just loud enough that Dave could hear. His voice sent shivers down John's back and the feeling of the detective's lips ghosting over his ear and neck made him forget how to breath.

"You didn't look too committed a moment ago," Dave said, motioning to the dance floor.

"I am," Sherlock insisted.

"Prove it."

"Why should I need to do that?"

"I think you're just over here covering for him. You two don't actually know each other, do you?"

It was then that John felt a hand on his chin, turning his face up. Sherlock was suddenly there, leaning down and pressing his lips to John's.

John tried his hardest not to think about the fact that he was kissing Sherlock Holmes, his flatmate and best friend, but the way that Sherlock's soft lips moved against his own made it difficult. Sherlock kissed him with the same amount of passion that he'd been dancing with and it took John's breath away. His lips were teasing John's open and Sherlock met no resistance, much to John's dismay. _It's just your body reacting to being kissed, _he told himself. _It has nothing to do with the fact that you're kissing Sherlock_. A gentle and inquisitive tongue breached John's mouth, startling him and making him pull back. He could have sworn there was a glint in Sherlock's eyes when he managed to open his eyes again.

Dave had already gotten up and left. John groaned and brought his drink up, taking a few gulps.

"He isn't coming here tonight," Sherlock announced.

"How long ago did you determine this?" John asked. He couldn't bring himself to face Sherlock. He knew that as soon as he did, he'd blush more than he did when he'd missed the lips of the first girl he kissed on the first try.

"About an hour," Sherlock said, sounding much too pleased with himself.

"Then what the hell are we still doing here, Sherlock?"

"I was dancing. You were drinking. I saw no reason to leave."

John stood, grabbed Sherlock by the arm, and dragged him out of the bar.

Neither of them ever brought up the kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you guys so much for the reviews! :D I love hearing back from you, so please feel free to tell me what you think!

Alright, here's chapter two! I'm going to try to post every day. So check back in tomorrow for chapter three!

Thanks for reading, lovlies!

Allons-y!

-Rayne

* * *

The second time Sherlock kissed him, they were sitting in Lestrade's office, talking about the most recent case. Arguing, actually.

"It was rape," Lestrade was saying. "There's no way it wasn't."

"Yes, there is a way," Sherlock insisted. "It was just rough sex."

"Look, I know rough sex and that," John said, pointing to the mangled body in the photograph, "is not rough sex."

Sherlock sighed. "John, look past the fact that she was murdered."

"I'm supposed to ignore the fact that her throat was slit open?" John ground out.

"For a moment, yes. This is important, John. I need you both to see this. It wasn't rape."

"Show us, then," Lestrade said. "Do your little deduction thing and prove to us that this wasn't rape _and_ murder and that I shouldn't go arrest that dick of a boyfriend now."

"Look past the blood," Sherlock said. "Look at the bruising. Two hand prints on her hips. Two. One on each side. One hand print on one of her wrists. It's missing on the other side."

"What about the bruise on her back?"

"She ran into a table on the way to the bedroom. Surely you've done it once or twice before."

"The bite marks," Lestrade challenged. "Those were so far beyond love bites. Those drew blood."

"Fetish," Sherlock answered.

Lestrade scoffed. "That's taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

"Some people like to be choked. Some like gun play. Some like to be tied up and beaten. Pleasure is different to everyone. Evidently, he liked to bite and she liked to be bitten."

"Sherlock, what about the damage? Obviously forced entry." John crossed his arms over his chest.

"Vaginal damage? Easy. _Rough. Sex. _You know that can happen sometimes, doctor." Sherlock snapped his fingers. "They also found a used comdom at the crime scene, right? He took care to do that. He didn't rape her."

"Sherlock..." Lestrade shook his head. "Alright. So he didn't rape her."

"No, no wait! I still don't quite believe you."

"Get on the floor, John."

John and Lestrade both gaped at the detective. "Excuse me?" John managed.

"You heard me. On the floor, please. On your back."

"No!"

"You want proof? On the floor."

John glared between Sherlock and Lestrade before huffing and lowering himself to the floor. The moment his back hit the carpet, Sherlock knelt down as well, swinging a leg over John and straddling his waist. "Sherlock!" John complained. "No, no absolutely not, get off of me."

"Hold on for just a minute." Sherlock grabbed John's hands, pulling them over his head and holding them there with one hand. His other snaked down to grip John's hip. John stared up at him. Sherlock watched him in turn, his face a few inches from John's. "Try to throw me off."

And with that, Sherlock swooped down and kissed John firmly on the lips.

John could hear Lestrade's muffled chuckle. He could feel Sherlock's lips on his, insistent and, much to John's dismay, familiar. He could feel the hand gripping his wrists and the one on his side. He could feel Sherlock's thumb stroking his side gently. What he couldn't feel was the rest of his body. He couldn't bring himself to move, he was frozen where he lay.

After a few moments, he managed to gain control of his limbs once more and easily roll himself and Sherlock over, shoving the shoulder opposite Sherlock's grip on his waist into Sherlock's shoulder. One of his hands broke free as Sherlock started away from him and John pushed himself over with as much strength as he could muster. They broke apart at the mouth, but instead, John found himself lying across the detective's chest and between his thighs, his groin pressed tightly to Sherlock's. He jumped up. "I don't-" His voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't see what that proved."

"It proved," Sherlock muttered as he heaved himself off of the floor, "that with only one hand on your wrists, it isn't difficult for you to get away from me. He didn't rape her. They just had a bout of rather rough sex."

Lestrade was laughing. He was clutching at his sides and laughing so hard John thought the man might fall out of his chair. "John! Your eyes doubled in size!"

"He kissed me!"

"Yes, I did. To prove a point." Sherlock brushed away invisible dirt from his jacket and started for the door. "Coming, John?"

John glared at his retreating back before hurrying after him.

"So it wasn't the boyfriend who killed her?" Lestrade called after them.

John saw Sherlock smile coyly. "No, it was definitely the boyfriend. He didn't rape her, though. Just killed her."

John stopped in his tracks. "You absolute _bastard!_ You didn't need to prove jack _shit_ to us, did you?"

"You felt it was necessary, dear Watson," Sherlock answered, sauntering towards the lift. The sound of Lestrade's laughter followed them all the way down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

OMG I am so sorry it's taken me so long to post. It has been crazy as all get-out in my life right now. Like seriously.

But, I did manage to write the third kiss. Woo hoo!

Please enjoy, and I PROMISE that the next chapter will be up sooner than this one was.

Allons-y!

-Rayne

* * *

Sherlock was drunk.

He didn't drink all that often. In fact, he rarely did at all. He found that alcohol slowed his brain down significantly and he hated that. But tonight, it had been for a case. Tonight, he'd gone to the bar to catch a killer. He'd seated himself beside her and shared two drinks before arresting her. Then, once Lestrade had arrived to cart her away, he and a reluctant John turned and headed back into the pub where they'd proceeded to get rip roaring drunk.

It took a lot less to get Sherlock to the point of no return than it did for his companion.

And now, Sherlock was in the front room of 221 B, watching John happily from his place sprawled across the couch. "Jawn," he slurred. "Jawn, come here, I want to thee you."

There were two things that Sherlock Holmes did when he was drunk. First, he lisped. It was a bit of a shock for John the first time he'd seen his flatmate drunk and the genius couldn't say the word "spider" without messing the s up. He thought the childish trait fit the cold, harsh man rather well, though.

Second, he _giggled._ Sherlock was a giggly drunk. If he'd had enough, he could find anything and everything endlessly funny. He seemed to find something funny now as he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Jawn, Jawn, come here!" he managed. "Come here and let me thee your beautiful face better!"

John, startled by the sudden compliment, got up from his chair, a bit uneasily as his vision was a little fuzzy, and made his way over to his friend. "What do you want, Sh'lock?"

"You," Sherlock said between giggles. "I want you to come here."

John knelt to the ground beside his friend's head. "I'm right here."

Sherlock then leaned over, wrapped a hand around the back of John's neck, and pulled him closer. It didn't occur to John what was happening until he felt Sherlock's lips on his own.

The kiss was clumsy but far from chaste as Sherlock's lips tried their hardest to pry John's open. John felt himself leaning into the kiss for a moment.

_What are you doing, John? This is Sherlock. You can't kiss him. He's a man and you're straight._ As Sherlock's tongue snaked its way into John's mouth, the last bit turned into a question. _You are straight, right?_

Sherlock was the first to pull back, smiling dreamily and letting go of John. "Thank you, Jawn. I've wanted to kith you all night."

And with that, the detective fell back into the couch, eyes closed, sleeping soundly and leaving John to his wavering thoughts.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed that one, too. I'm already in the process of writing the fourth one, so expect that to be up very soon! Really, soon. I promise.

Please review! They make me happy and me happy means that... well, it just means I'm happy. But you should review anyway!

-Rayne


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews! I'm really glad you guys are enjoying this. I'm having a lot of fun writing it. :)

If you missed chapter three, go back and read it, cause I posted it yesterday!

Here's chapter four!

Allons-y!

-Rayne

* * *

The fourth time it happened, they were at a crime scene.

John and Sherlock were leaning over the body of a young man in his late teens with a gun shot clear through his skull. Donovan and Lestrade were discussing something in the corner of the room and Anderson was standing behind the detective and his companion, obviously annoyed at the fact that they were even present.

"Sniper," John muttered to Sherlock.

"Obvious," Sherlock answered, pointing to the hole in the window. "But where was the sniper shooting from? The building across the street must have at least twenty different flats with windows facing this building."

John rose from where he was crouched and walked the few paces to the window. He glanced back down at the body, focusing on the entry wound in the boy's forehead. Sherlock watched him with curiosity as he turned back to the window. "Second or third story," John announced. "Three, four, or five windows in from the left."

Sherlock jumped up. "Brilliant," he said, grinning and approaching John quickly. John backed against the window, mildly concerned by the smug look on Sherlock's face. "So I see you have more skills than following me around and complimenting me all day." John could have sworn Sherlock sounded as though he was _teasing_ John.

Sherlock grasped John's face between his hands, pulling the startled man closer and kissing him. It wasn't like any of the other times Sherlock had invaded John's space to this extent; the kiss was soft, his lips were barely there, and it didn't last more than a couple of seconds before the brilliant man had spun himself around and was charging out of the door.

He was left alone to deal with the three curious gazes fixed on him.

"What was that?" Donovan asked, sounding slightly disgusted. "You might want to go wash your mouth out, John. You don't want to get whatever the freak has."

John opened his mouth to snap at her, but Lestrade beat him to it. "Donovan!" He turned and faced John again. "I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for Sherlock to do something like that." Lestrade looked to John, clearly expecting an explanation. When John couldn't seem to provide one, Lestrade shot him a look that said "we'll discuss this later" and turned back to Donovan.

"Yeah, he's finally lost it," Anderson muttered.

"Shut up, Anderson," John grumbled, following after Sherlock. His fingers came up to his lips. _You are not attracted to him, John. You are straight. You did not enjoy that kiss._

_Who the hell am I kidding? I loved that kiss more than the others. _

_No, John, you aren't attracted to him._

He was so invested in the argument going on inside his head that he didn't realize that the subject of his thoughts was standing in the front doorway. He ran into him, feeling Sherlock's arms come around him to keep the two upright.

Sherlock quickly let go of him and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry." He said it so softly that John wasn't even sure he'd said it at all. "I shouldn't have done that."

John shook his head in dismissal. "It's fine," he mumbled. "Just - just fine." _No, it isn't. He's your best friend and he kissed you. Not to mention that he is in fact a he!_

Sherlock nodded. He looked skeptical but John was glad when he turned and stepped out onto the street, letting the subject drop.

* * *

Yay for fourth kisses!

Please drop me a review! I love to know what you guys are thinking about what you are reading! :D Until next time, lovelies!

-Rayne


	5. Chapter 5

I'm baaack! Here's kiss number five...

Hope you all are enjoying it as much as I am. :D

Allons-y!

-Rayne

* * *

The fifth time Sherlock kissed him, they were sitting in their flat, trying to keep cool. John was scanning that morning's newspaper and Sherlock was in his usual place, sprawled out on the couch in nothing but a pair of cotton pajama pants and a dressing gown that hung open. John had to force himself to keep from glancing at Sherlock and his bared chest, shining from a thin layer of sweat. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he had an arm thrown across his face.

"We should do this more often," Sherlock drawled.

"Do what?" John asked, setting down the newspaper and leaning back in his chair. His fingers fidgeted for a moment before reaching up and undoing the first two buttons on his shirt. He was startled when he realized Sherlock's eyes were carefully watching the movement.

The detective's tongue flicked out and wetted his dry lips. "Uhm." Sherlock seemed to have lost the thought. He shook his head. "I don't know. This. Just sitting still and being."

"There's a reason we don't do this very often," John grumbled.

"What's that?"

"You have issues with sitting still."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling again and he clasped his hands across his stomach. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"So is this really all you plan on doing today?"

Sherlock didn't respond for a while. John closed his eyes and stretched his legs out, sighing with contentment. "Yes," Sherlock finally said. "Well… No." He sounded closer than he had been a moment ago. John's eyes flickered opened again. Sherlock had soundlessly risen and was slowly making his way towards John. He finally knelt between John's knees, looking suspiciously determined.

"Sherlock?" John asked, trying to sit up. He could hear his heart thundering in his chest when one of Sherlock's hands pulled him forward a bit, the second slipping behind his neck.

When Sherlock's lips met his, John was shocked to realize that his initial reaction was to kiss Sherlock back, and he did just that. Sherlock's mouth seemed to fit perfectly against his own as their lips slid back and forth. John sat forward and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Sherlock broke the kiss for a moment, but before John really had a chance to complain or feel relief, he had a lapful of the detective and his mouth was claimed again. His neck strained up, trying to get used to the new angle. He allowed his hands to travel down, resting on each of the thighs straddling his own before dragging them up Sherlock's stomach and chest. He reveled in the heat he felt rolling off of his companion in waves.

A questing tongue breaches his lips and begins expertly mapping his yielding mouth. John couldn't hold back a groan. Sherlock answered with his own low hum of satisfaction. And as Sherlock gently shifted his hips against John's and his arousal was made known and John focused on where Sherlock's wandering hands were heading, he seemed to realize what he was doing and more importantly with whom.

This was Sherlock Holmes. This was asexual Sherlock Holmes who never showed any interest in anybody.

This was his best friend. His very best friend. He couldn't do this.

He pushed Sherlock back enough that he could look at the flustered man seated on him. "Sherlock," he managed. His voice was rough and he cleared his throat briefly. "Sherlock," he repeated.

He'd thought Sherlock had looked good on the dance floor, but that image paled in comparison to the embodiment of sin sitting in front of him.

Sherlock's cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen. His dressing gown had been pushed to the floor (had _John_ done that?) and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. His hair was more messed up than usual, going in every direction possible. His eyes were half closed and he had a content little smile playing across his mouth, threatening to light up his whole face.

John had always considered himself to be straight, but looking at his best friend now, he was seriously beginning to doubt that. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to women, but he was undoubtedly attracted to Sherlock. _Maybe not bisexual,_ John pondered for a moment, _but Sherlock-sexual?_

"John?" Sherlock asked, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"I can't Sherlock."

"John, you can't possibly still be hanging on to the idea that you are completely straight-"

"No, I think I've gotten over that by now. I just don't know-" He stopped talking and gasped when Sherlock shifted in his lap again, rubbing against John's undeniable erection. "Sherlock. Off my lap. Please."

Sherlock frowned but did as he was told.

John sighed and dragged his hands over his face. "It isn't a matter of attraction. I'm attracted to you, that much is very obvious." He chuckled nervously and dragged his palms across his jean covered thighs. "It's just that you're my best friend, Sherlock, and I really don't want to ruin that."

"Who said that I had to stop being your friend, even if we are having sex with one another?"

"It's not that, Sherlock. It's just that if we do start something, and that something goes very badly… I don't want to ruin the friendship that we already have."

John expected Sherlock to complain. He expected the man to prattle off a list of reasons why John was being stupid and another list of reasons why entering into a sexual relationship could be greatly beneficial to the both of them.

To his surprise, Sherlock sighed heavily and wandered back to the couch. "I suppose you're right."

"I… I am?"

"Yes. You're my friend, John, and you're right. I don't want to ruin that."

John rubbed the back of his head. "Right. Alright. Well then." The awkwardness in the room was suddenly palpable as Sherlock watched him from the couch and he stared right back. He made a snap decision and rose abruptly. "I'm going out."

"Where? Don't you think you ought to… well." Sherlock gestured vaguely at John's groin.

"Right, leaving now," John muttered, hurrying to find his coat and slip out of the door.

When it had shut behind him, he collapsed against it and slid to the floor with a groan. He ran his hands through his hair and tucked his knees up towards his shoulders.

He spent the better part of the evening sitting there and thinking about everything that had transpired.

* * *

Let's face it, Sherlock. That probably counts as more than one kiss.

Reviews are love. :)

We only have one kiss left! I'm half way done with it, so you can expect it up soon! :D

Thanks so much for reading!

-Rayne


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